Let Me Fly
by lemonygoodness1998
Summary: Sometimes all you need is some space to fly.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Harper's POV

"Harper! Get down here this instant, young lady!" a shrill scream came through the door. I flung the flimsy piece of wood open and yelled down the stairs.

"What now!?" I yelled.

"I said to come down here!" the voice responded. I had been living with my Great Aunt Lucinda for less than half an hour and she had already managed to find something wrong with me. Figures. That's what my stepmother had sent me there to London for, anyway. I reluctantly made my way down the carpeted staircase and came into the parlor only to be greeted by a very pissed Aunt Lucinda.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded of me.

"The meaning of what? Ma'am," I quickly tacked the last part on. She seemed to be slightly appeased by it, but she still stood straight and fuming in front of me.

"The 'this' I am referring to," she said, irritated, "is this feather lying on the carpet! I told you there were to be no animals in this house!"

_Oh shit._

I quelled the absolute terror in my chest and sighed instead of screaming.

"She's injured," I whined. "Can't I just take care of her until she's well enough to fly on her own?"

"She is a filthy animal! Who knows what diseases she may carry, and handling diseased vermin is not at all becoming of a young lady such as yourself."

"Perhaps I should avoid _you_ then, Aunt Lucinda." I regretted it the moment it left my lips. The woman turned absolutely beet red and advanced upon me.

"Excuse me?" she huffed angrily. I could practically see the steam escaping her ears. "Do my ears deceive me or did you just call me vermin?"

"Your ears deceive you, ma'am. I called you _diseased_ vermin." _Crap! Foot in my mouth!_

She turned even redder, if possible, and slapped me across the face.

"Your mother told me I had my work cut out for me, but she mentioned nothing about such a smart mouth!"

"That woman is not my mother," I snarled. "Nobody can replace my mother."

"According to the American legal system, my daughter can!"

"According to genetics, nobody can!"

"Well, your genetics is mistaken, Harper. Even your name is uncivilized. What kind of filthy woman must your genetic mother have been to name you such a name?"

Enraged, I felt my face heat up to the point of exploding. _Nobody_ insulted my mother.

"I would have thought a civilized woman such as yourself would have found it unladylike to speak badly of the dead," I said steadily. That earned me another slap across the face.

"Go to your room," she commanded lowly. It was obvious that I had shaken her. "And get rid of that bird."

"Good choice of words," I said before turning on my heel and stomping up the stairs and into my room.

My room was littered with yellowed cardboard boxes, all stuffed to the brim with books and sheet music and records, etc. Trying to get my mind off of my bitch of a step-aunt, I fished my knife from my pocket and sliced through the packing tape sealing one of the boxes. Beneath the cardboard flaps and packing paper lay a stack of books. All fantasy, science fiction, and adventure, as per my personal taste.

The top book was Peter Pan.

I smiled sadly at the memories that bubbled up: my mother tucking me into bed and reading a chapter to me, a young Harper curled up on the couch watching the Disney movie on loop, me and my mother playing pirates in the front yard. A single tear dripped on to the weathered cover and I hurriedly wiped my eyes. There would be no crying. Crying didn't solve anything.

I moved on, unpacking and organizing and shelving books for hours as I recalled all those bittersweet memories of the farm. But, as always, in the back of my mind, Peter Pan lingered as a phantom.

There was nothing I wouldn't have given for a trip to Neverland.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Peter's POV

There was a tug at the base of my neck. And that could only mean one thing.

"Come on, Tink!" I crowed excitedly. "Somebody's wishing!"

Tinkerbell zoomed up from her little fairy house and chimed excitedly by my ear.

"I'm excited too! I hope it's a boy a bit closer to my own age." I added the second sentence under my breath so as not to upset any of the Lost Boys. I had gained quite a crowd of new Lost Boys after the originals had gone to live in the normal world. I still visited the originals until they had grown too old to remember me; it had been depressing, and I had cried a lot, but I saw that they were all very happy with their new lives.

It had been particularly painful when Wendy ceased to leave her window unlocked.

Every visit aged me slightly. I estimated myself to be about sixteen or seventeen now. But now I would get a new friend! This wish was the strongest I had ever felt, so I guessed it was from someone on the cusp of adulthood.

Tink and I whizzed through our encampment and zoomed into the sky. I crowed, a crow which was enthusiastically copied by the Lost Boys.

"Sammy, you're in charge!" I called down to the oldest of the Lost Boys. He shouted excitedly, which was the last thing I heard before Tink and I shot outside Neverland's atmosphere.

We were engulfed in a tunnel of filtered pixie dust as we flew down to the human world. Suddenly, we burst through the atmosphere and raced to the right, where the tug on my neck was strongest. The London skyline came into view, and my heart skipped a beat: this was where they all went over eighty years earlier. Tink made a sound of recognition, and we pressed forward.

The tug suddenly yanked me to the left, towards the older houses in town. The moon illuminated the darkened cobblestone streets in a blue wash, just like that fateful night when I had collected Wendy and her brothers. I zoomed past blackened windows and shot to the left again. The tug suddenly relented in front of a tall, skinny house connected to other tall, skinny houses. I gulped.

This was - had been - Wendy's house.

I heard a huge bang from upstairs, where the nursery window was. Tink and I floated silently to the window and peeked inside.

"Take off that ridiculous jacket, Harper! It's not becoming of you!"

"I'm not taking off my hoodie! It's a freaking meat locker in this house!"

"You will not use that kind of language with me, young-"

"Oh, please.'Freaking' is not a swear word."

"It's close enough to one!"

"And how exactly would you know, Aunt Lucinda? Have you been exposing yourself to something illicit? How scandalous!"

"Watch your tone, you brat!"

The entire conversation sounded through the door to the nursery, which was flung open wide. A dizzying number of boxes were scattered about the room, books upon books and round, black discs and a strange stringed box with a skinny neck lying haphazardly atop clothes and more books. Someone had obviously just moved in.

"I will watch my fucking tone when you can learn to respect me!"

A strangled gasp escaped the shrillest voice.

"How dare you use such absolutely filthy language?"

"Oh, uncomfortable with the word 'fuck', are we? Well, fuck you!"

"Excuse you!"

"Yeah! Fuck you, fuck this house, fuck your rules, fuck your daughter-"

"Go to your room!"

"Fucking gladly! I can wear a hoodie in peace up there!"

Suddenly, a heavy clomping sounded as someone angrily ascended the stairs. A fuming black-hooded figure burst into the nursery and threw the door closed so forcefully that a crack appeared down its center.

"And fuck these flimsy-ass English doors!" it screamed at the split door before storming over to a desk in the corner. On the desk lay a clear box lined with towels. The boy gingerly lifted a black form from the box and began to examine it. It was then I recognized the blob as a small bird.

"When you're all better," the boy murmured gently to the bird, "you'll get to fly away from all your problems." The boy scoffed and leaned his head against the desk while still cradling the bird. "Doesn't that sound nice?" He looked back to the creature in his hands before setting it back in its bed and fishing something from another box. He then unscrewed the cap to a large bottle filled with some kind of slimy yellow substance.

Tink and I looked at each other and cringed.

The boy took a small tube (an "eye-dropper", I had heard others call them) and filled it with the substance, then offered it to the little bird. It lapped it up gratefully, smearing it messily across the feathers of its face. The boy laughed lightly and used his fingers to wipe away the mess.

"You messy girl," he teased. When the bird was done eating, the boy stretched out one of its wings and ran his fingers along the bone. He nodded and sighed.

"You're all healed now, sweetie," he said. "It's time for you to go be with your birdy friends, now." The bird chirped as in protest, but soon hopped from his hand and scuttled around the desk before pooping. I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from erupting in howls of laughter. The boy just sighed and rubbed his hands over his face before using one of the towels that lined the bird's bed to wipe up the excrement.

"You know, I'm starting to see what that old bat downstairs means by 'disgusting animals'," he chuckled. Standing up slowly, he scooped the bird into his hands and made for the window. Tink and I quickly flew to the top of the dormer so as to be out of sight; we both wanted to see more of this guy. He opened the window and leaned on the sill with his elbow, holding the bird over the edge. Next, he leaned his face down to the bird in his hands and whispered.

"You're free now, girlie."

And, as if she understood, the little black bird jumped from the boy's hands and flew off into the night sky to find a roost somewhere in London. The boy held his position for a moment, gazing after his friend and letting the breeze ruffle his jacket. I was suddenly reminded of when I had led Wendy and the others back to this world; I knew I would find the same sadness in this boy's eyes that Tink had said was held in mine.

Then, leaving the window open, he retreated back into his room to grab something and shove it into his pocket, then he began to climb out the window.

Tink and I immediately ducked to the side as he gripped the top of the window's dormer and hoisted himself on to the roof. He had a sort of feline grace about his movements, especially as he climbed to the apex of the roof and perched atop it.

Letting out a long sigh, he reached to the front of his hood to pull it back.

Great! I thought. Now we'll get to see how old he is!

Boy, was I in for a surprise.

Now, I hadn't seen a girl other than Tinkerbell in over eighty years. But with what I remembered of Wendy, I was absolutely certain that this was no boy.

With pale skin, a sharp jaw with a scar running along one side, icy blue eyes, and a short ribbon of black hair running down her back, she was unlike any creature I had ever seen before. I had thought all girls looked similar to Wendy, with blonde curls and frilly dresses and polite and motherly personalities (in fact, all of her friends whom I had seen in her room throughout the years looked quite similar); this one seemed so above everything that I couldn't help but stare in awe.

No girl, other than Wendy and this one, had ever wished to stay a child. And I wasn't quite sure what to make of her.

She pulled the band from her hair, allowing her neck-length hair to fall freely around her face. She blew a puff of air upwards to get the hair out of her eyes, but it just flopped back into place moments later. Huffing, she ran a hand over her head to smooth her hair, then pulled a strange contraption from her jacket's pocket. She placed two small buds in her ears, then touched parts of the box which she held in her hand. The tension in her shoulders suddenly released and she flopped down to lie on the roof, staring up at the stars.

_It's... a girl._

Tink was vibrating angrily beside me, an angry red glow emanating from her. It was obvious that she was already jealous.

"Hush, Tink," I said. "It's just a girl." She got even angrier. I rolled my eyes at the pixie. "I'm still going to get her."

Tink jingled incessantly, warning me of the dangers of having a girl around: being too weak to fight pirates, too slow to run from them, too feminine to understand boys- I silenced her with a look.

"We're collecting her," I told her. "She made a pure-hearted wish and so I'm taking her to Neverland." Before she could protest any further I flew up in the air and landed beside the girl on the roof. I kicked her foot.

"You wanted to go to Neverland?" I asked with a grin. She opened her eyes and screamed before she jumped up and away from me. She pulled the things from her ears and yanked some kind of knife from her back pocket, wielding it threateningly.

"Who the fuck are you?" she demanded. I looked back at Tink.

"Still think she's too feminine?" I chuckled. I got punched in the face.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Harper's POV

"Oh my God!" he shrieked, clutching at his wounded eye with a sweaty palm. He jumped back and away from me.

"Never take your eyes from your opponent. That's something they teach you in tae kwon do," I said menacingly, still holding the knife before me as if it were a dagger.

"I just wanted to take you to Neverland!" he exclaimed.

He had really done his homework on Peter Pan. Grungy red hair that needed a wash, green shoes, clothes made from leaves, the works. He must have really wanted to kidnap me if he went to all that trouble. I shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had he not alerted me to his presence.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Don't give me that bullshit," I spat. "That place is a fairy tale and we both know it."

"It's not a fairy tale!" he said defiantly, still holding his eye. "It's real!"

"Oh really, now?" I sneered. "Why don't you fly for me then? Fly right off this roof!"

His mouth turned upward in a smug grin.

"Can do, mi'lady!" he said and jumped.

And soared.

I was left dumbstruck on the roof, holding a butterfly knife slack at my side, looking up at the boy who flew through the air in a flurry of golden dust particles. He let out a loud crow and did a flip before landing back on the roof, a tiny speck of glowing gold light fluttering spasmodically around his shoulders.

"What do you think now?" he said proudly, hands on his hips.

I could say nothing.

"I'm Peter-"

"Peter Pan," I blurted. His face contorted in an expression of confusion.

"How did you know?" I took a deep breath to steady myself, then flipped my knife closed and slipped it into my pocket. I checked to make sure my phone was secure in my other pocket. It was.

"I'll show you," I said, then jumped onto the dormer and flung myself through the window. Peter Pan followed me in, landing gracefully on the window seat and sitting cross-legged on its cushion.

Wide-eyed he traced the walls, looking at all the bookcases filled to the brim with books and vinyl records, the guitar that was propped up in one corner, the endless _Harry Potter_ and band posters. I strode to one of the bookshelves and slid out a book, an older one with a broadcloth cover, then went back to him, depositing the book in his lap. He flipped through a few of the pages, eyes moving back and forth as he scanned the words. Then he looked back up at me, eyes wide.

"This is my life," he said quietly.

"_Peter and Wendy_," I told him. "A book by J.M. Barrie. It was originally a stage play, but he adapted it into a novel in 1911."

"J.M. Barrie…" he trailed.

"Was that a lost boy?" I asked.

"I think so. I think that was Toodles' name." I sat down on my bed across from him.

"It's my guess that he came here from Neverland and wrote about your adventures."

"That makes sense."

We sat in silence for a moment, and then a grin spread across his face.

"So what do you say?" he asked. "Do you want to come to Neverland?"

"I-"

I was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Get in the closet!" I hissed urgently. "If my aunt sees you in here she'll kill me!" He jumped up and looked around frantically.

"What's a closet?" he asked. I rolled my eyes and pushed him across the room and into the closet. I had just closed the closet door when the cracked door to the bedroom was delicately opened.

"Harper!" came the voice of Aunt Lucinda.

"Yes? Ma'am?"

"Why is this door cracked?" She came around the door and looked at me. "And what are you doing just leaning against your closet door?"

"I just put some clothes away and I'm tired, ma'am," I lied smoothly. She looked at me critically for a moment, but then turned away. She looked at my room in distaste.

"These things on the wall," she said, walking over to a poster of Hermione Granger and fingering a loose edge. "They are not exactly… _suitable_ for a young lady."

"What's wrong with them, ma'am?"

"Well, it's hard for me to explain," she said, tapping her finger against her chin and looking at my poster. "They simply aren't feminine."

"Ma'am," I sighed, "I assume you know that I don't _want_ to be feminine." She whirled around and pressed her lips into a thin line.

"That is precisely the problem," she said, looking me over, obviously disapproving of my hoodie.

"Well, there's not much you can do to convince me to be feminine."

"I am sure," she said tersely. "But I'm sure your chronic masculinity is not helped by your choice in room décor." I stiffened.

"What are you planning to do?"

"I plan to rid his room of all traces of masculinity. Starting with these sickly paper wall hangings!"

She violently ripped Hermione Granger from the wall.

"No!" I screamed as a huge rip appeared down the center of the poster. Aunt Lucinda proceeded to the next poster, the cover of The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. I blocked her way.

"Just let me take them off properly," I begged. "I had them in my old house and I need something to-"

"No. Now get out of my way or I will forcibly remove that disgusting jacket of yours!"

Knowing that Aunt Lucinda's idea of forcible removal probably involved a pair of scissors, I realized that I would have to relent if I wanted to keep it intact. It had been my mother's once upon a time, and she had given it to me when I was no older than six; I could still remember toddling about the house in it, the hem brushing the floor and sleeves flopping off the ends of my arms. The jacket was the last thing I had of my mother, so it meant the world to me

It also hid… certain attributes.

I clenched my fists and stepped aside.

Aunt Lucinda proceeded to tear every poster from my wall, rendering each one torn beyond repair and each wall painfully blank. When she was done she stuffed the poster shards into the trash can and threw something on my bed. It was white and frilly and made me want to vomit.

"This is phase one of my training to make you a lady," she said harshly, pointing to the nightgown. "Put it on."

"No way in hell, old bat!"

"What did you just call me?"

"I believe you heard."

She slapped me hard across the face, hard enough I was sure Peter could hear it.

"That will teach you to respect your elders, brat," she spat. "Put on the nightgown or I shall have to spank you. Or…" She looked around the room, obviously looking for something she could threaten to take away from me. Her eyes alighted on something in the corner of the room and her lips curled into a smug, self-satisfied smile. "I'll take away your guitar."

If it was even possible, my fists clenched tighter. I set my jaw and breathed out a slow huff of hair, trying to calm myself down.

"Alright," I capitulated, my shoulders sagging.

"Alright, then," she said, advancing upon me and grabbing the nightgown. "Lift your arms."

I was suddenly struck with absolute terror. If she were to see what was under my jacket –

"No!" I exclaimed, then calmed myself. "Just… let me do it myself. I'll do it." She eyed me suspiciously but handed me the frilly thing anyway.

"Put it one," she told me. "I shall be back up here in thirty minutes to make sure you have done so."

"Okay."

She left the room, eying the crack in the door and clucking her tongue before completely exiting. When she finally left I collapsed against my bed. Then there was a knock at a door.

"Can I come out now?"

I suddenly remembered Peter Pan in my closet. Then I realized how much of an idiot he must be to call out when my aunt might still be in the room.

"Yes," I sighed, leaning over and covering my eyes with my hands. The sound of an opening and closing door rang out in the empty room like a gunshot. I wanted to cry.

Peter looked around the room, eying the now bare walls.

"Is that the ripping sound I heard?" he asked. I nodded.

"They were pictures from my favorite books and music artists." He was eerily silent.

"I'm sorry you've had to live with that woman," he said as he put his hand on my shoulder. I flinched away. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I said quickly. "I just… don't like to be touched."

"Why not?" he asked loudly. I quickly slapped my hand over his mouth and hushed him. I shot him a worried glance before looking back to the door. He stuck out his tongue and licked my hand, but I didn't budge; I only moved from my position when I was sure that Aunt Lucinda wouldn't come up to check on the noise. I immediately wiped my hand on my jeans and shot Peter Pan a dirty look. He, on the other hand, was wide-eyed again, surprised that I hadn't immediately pulled my hand back when he first stuck out his tongue.

"I'm impervious," I said. "Anyway, about Neverland?"

"Yes?" he asked excitedly, nearly bouncing off the walls.

"Could we go now?"

"Absolutely! All you need is faith, trust, and…" he trailed, looking around the room.

"Pixie dust," I finished, also looking for the out-of-sight fairy. "Where is she?"

"She's probably just hiding because she's jealous," he said. "She always thinks girls are going to steal me away from her."

"Well I can assure you, Tinkerbell, that I'm not here to steal Peter Pan away from you."

Almost immediately a small orb of yellow light zoomed out from behind my new dresser and into my face, pinging angrily.

"She says she doesn't care," Peter translated, "and that you're probably lying."

"Well she's not gullible, I'll give her that," I said. "But I still need pixie dust."

"I got it!"

Peter grabbed Tinkerbell by the wings, much to her displeasure, and patted her gently on the bottom, causing a small load of pixie dust to cascade over my head.

"Now all you need is a happy though!"

_Mom_.

"Not that happy! You're about to go straight through the ceiling!"

I laughed. I was fucking _flying_.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked me. I nodded vigorously as I got my things and flew out the window.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Peter's POV

We broke through Neverland's atmosphere.

"Whoa," she whispered. I laughed.

Our tropical island was quite a sight. With its palm tree lined beaches, white sands, crystal blue waters, thick jungles, and snow-capped mountains, Neverland was one of the most beautiful places in the universe, in my opinion. But although it was beautiful, I was no longer overwhelmed by its beauty; instead, I was overwhelmed by the feeling of _home_ that washed over me.

"So what do you want to see first?" I asked her with a grin.

"What all is there to see?"

"Well, there's Mermaid Lagoon, and the hideout, and the Jolly Roger-"

"I don't want to piss off Captain Hook just yet," she laughed. "And I need to put my stuff down somewhere where it won't get stolen, so I guess I'd like to see the hideout."

"Sounds good to me!"

I tightened my hold on her hand and swerved to the left, taking her with me. We flew down into the tree-thick jungle near the hideout, then wound our way through the trees until we came to the treehouse, an inconspicuous dead tree in the middle of a clearing. We landed in front of it.

"Is this it?" she asked me.

"Yep!" I placed my fingers in my mouth and whistled for the Lost Boys. "Come on out, boys!"

Within moments a horde of boys dressed in animal costumes had lined up before us, all with straight backs and lifted chins. They first looked at me, and then their eyes drifted to the stranger who stood beside me. Their eyes widened as they looked back to me.

"These are the Lost Boys," I told her. As I introduced each boy they stepped up to claim their name. "We have Sammy, Chappy, Toppy, Flip, Firstly, and Potson."

All eyes were on the girl, so unlike any creature they had ever seen before. The Lost Boys looked from the girl to me and then back to the girl, as if silently asking my permission. I rolled my eyes and waved my hand.

"You may approach," I said. They all immediately swarmed the girl, who looked down at them in surprise, and bombarded her with questions.

"What's in that big box?"

"Where are you from?"

"Are you a girl?"

"Why are you here?"

Potson, the youngest Lost Boy at somewhere around four, toddled up to the girl and tugged at her sleeve. She looked down at him.

"What is your name?" asked Potson. The girl's lips curved up into a small, uneasy but genuine smile, and she knelt down to his level.

"What's yours?" she asked back.

"Potson!" the Lost Boy said proudly, his bear costume sagging slightly on his tiny body as he placed his fists on his hips in a poor imitation of me. I smiled. "I'm four years old."

"Well, Potson," the girl said, "My name is Harper and I'm fifteen years old." This revelation was met with a chorus of small whispers from the boys, mostly about how dissimilar she was from Wendy. Potson, having little to no trepidation about speaking his mind, was the first to speak.

"Are you a girl?" he asked. I had to turn away to mask my snickers.

"I'm a girl," she said.

"Then why aren't you in a dress? And where's all your hair?" It looked like she was becoming increasingly uneasy around the Lost Boys, and it was then that I first doubted why I brought her to Neverland in the first place.

"Well, where I come from girls don't have to wear dresses. And long hair is too hot for me."

They all seemed to accept those answers and hurriedly pulled her into the hideout, showing her how to enter and warning her not to hit her head on any tree roots. I followed a short distance behind, observing how the girl, Harper, interacted with the Lost Boys.

It wasn't much, but there was the way she stood, the way she walked, the way she smiled at the boys – she didn't look quite comfortable with them. To be sure she liked them – all her smiles were genuine and there was actual affection in her gaze, but I got the impression that it was very difficult for her to be around people, or at least around children; however, it could have just been the suddenness of it all, being bombarded with small children asking you questions. It would be enough to daze anyone.

Inside the hideout floated several hammocks, all of which were now occupied by the boys as they sat up and asked the girl more questions. The girl herself stood awkwardly in the middle of the hideout holding her things. She looked to me with a nervous glance.

"Where can I put my things?" she asked. I pointed to an unoccupied hammock.

"You can sleep there, so you can put your stuff under there," I said. She nodded and did so. Potson toddled up to her again and tugged on her sleeve.

"What's in that box?" he asked, pointing to a large black case she was shoving under the hammock. For the first time that day I saw her give an easy smile.

"This?" she asked as she grabbed the case's handle. She pulled it from under the hammock and sat it on her lap, pulling latches and pushing down bolts. "This is my guitar."

The Lost Boys crowded around her as she opened the case, all vying for a view of the thing she called a guitar.

"It's pretty!" Firstly said.

"What does it do?" asked Chappy.

"It's a musical instrument," she explained. She was met by blank expressions. "It's something you use to make music." Their faces lit up excitedly.

"Show us! Show us!" the Lost Boys shouted. Harper laughed and pulled out the guitar, a brown wooden thing with a curved body and a long neck that jutted out to the side. She pushed the case to the ground and placed the guitar over her knees, grabbing the neck with her left hand and a small shard of something in her right.

"Any requests?" she asked jokingly. The Lost Boys laughed but said nothing; we probably didn't know any of the songs she did. So, she took the piece of something in her right hand and plucked the strings, one by one.

Now, none of us knew much about music. Chappy, Toppy, and I could play the pipes, and all of us could bang out a rhythm on just about anything solid, but other than that we were completely isolated from the world of music. Knowing that, we were completely mesmerized by the guitar music which she played. Her left hand raced up and down the neck, pressing into the strings there while her right hand danced across them at the body end. And the way it sounded… it sounded like a sunrise.

When she was finished the Lost Boys erupted in thunderous applause. I simply smiled from my position leaning against the hideout's doorway. Harper laughed lightly and ruffled Toppy's hair. All doubts I had about bringing her to Neverland melted away and I was left with a sense of peace; now, whether that peace was from the music or from seeing her interact with the Lost Boys remained to be seen.

Harper's POV

Peter Pan asked to talk to me. Alone.

The Lost Boys scrambled to leave the underground hideout, nearly tripping over each other in their efforts to get through the door. He chuckled at their antics and came to sit on an adjacent hammock facing me.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" I asked him as I placed my guitar back in its case.

"What else do you know how to do?" he asked. I faltered.

"What do you mean?"

"What are your other skills? You can play this guitar thingy, so what else can you do?"

"Well," I started but then stopped. What else _did _I do?

"Yes?"

"I can write," I said. "Stories." His eyes widened.

"You could tell stories to the Lost Boys!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Would you?"

"Um… sure," I agreed. "I don't think they're very good, though."

"A story's a story," he shrugged. "What else can you do?"

"Well… I can fight. But you saw that back on my roof." He instinctively raised his hand to touch the purple bruise that was forming under his eye. "And I can kind of use a sword. And I'm good at hiding." God, that last one was an understatement.

"Anything else?"

Yes.

"No," I said.

"Well, it's good enough for us!" he said, jumping up from his seat on the hammock. He held out his hand to me. "Come on. You're going to show me what you can do."


End file.
